Only Therapy Could Save Us
by The Dreamer Eternal
Summary: What happens when Tony gets severely injured and the rest of the Avengers have to find help from the least likely person to do so to help him? Therapy, and lots of it is the only thing that can save them after this. Rating is T, but watch out for some slight language, somewhat-fluffy master spies, and Tony whump. Follow/fav/review unless you want to be targeted by Black Widow. ;)
1. You Had a Bad Day

**Hello, all! Yes, it is I, Dreamer. I know, I know. It's been a while since I last posted anything. If you're looking for anything to do with "Ties", you're in the wrong place. This is a competition fic, with me, Girl-luvs-manga, and writtingnut135723. So if you read this one, be sure to read theirs and pick your favorite, or just read this one and R&R. If you do decide to vote for one of us, then leave a review saying your choice or you can visit one of our profiles and do a poll, which will hopefully be up soon. FYI, we all have the same basic plot/storyline and it's under the same title, but we'll be trying to make each one as unique as possible. So without further ado, Only Therapy Could Save Us! (BTW, the chapter name is from the song of the same name by Daniel Powter.)**

Chapter 1: You Had a Bad Day

Tony thinks that this day might just possibly be the worst day he's ever had. Worse that the day Obie stabbed him in the back, worse than the day his parents died, even worse than Afghanistan. First, he had woken up early because Pepper had wanted him to go to a meeting where he sat through two hours of lectures and paper pushing. The subject of the meeting was even about how a company he had invested in was losing stocks. The cup of coffee he had gotten to save himself was even burned. When he had taken his first sip, he wasn't expecting the heat and spilled it all over his best Armani suit. Then he had slunk off like a chastised puppy to the training room, where he got his ass handed to him by a certain Russian superspy for the umpteenth day in a row. And he'd had such a good feeling about the suit's new weapons upgrade too. But a surprise mission from Fury was the fucking cherry on top. No, wait. Scratch that. The absolute worst part of his day was getting a missile shot at him and being injected with a questionable liquid by a known supervillain.

_Three hours before_

"I don't need this crap, I'm Tony fucking Stark, for crying out loud!" Tony grumbled as he twisted around an incoming rocket from an RPG. "Hey, Thor! Here's people who you can actually call 'Metal Man'!" He said jovially down to his teammate.

"I agree, Son of Howard. This is most disrespectful." Thor scowled as he swung around his hammer in circles wide enough to take care of seven at a blow.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Point Break. Leave my father out of this. My daddy issues are going to take years of therapy just to air out all my dirty laundry." Tony pushed the unpleasant reminder out of his head and blasted another Doombot, with more force than was necessary.

Since there was a lull in the battle, Tony hovered to take stock. Doombots were running rampant in the downtown streets with no sign of their creator. Clint was up on the Quinjet, but only his exploding arrows were doing much. Natasha was piloting the plane, but took breaks every so often to sneak behind a fleeing runner to take them down and to powder her nose. Thor was in the air with Tony taking down the ones that could fly. Hulk was on the ground happily smashing Doombots into the ground, walls, other Doombots, and occasionally other teammates. Steve was also on the ground keeping a nonexistent boundary up, and dodging dismembered halves from Hulk. Jarvis kept a steady stream up, of alerts and notifications, as he was hooked up to all the cameras in the area. Tony sniffed, and shot over to where some Doombots were hassling Steve.

"Doing good, Gramps. Make sure you don't throw your back out with all this strenuous activity." He teased as he led the bots in a merry chase ending in a bridge.

"Just focus on finding the real Doom, hot shot." Steve shot back as he slammed his shield into a bot, which flew backwards into a wall with a resounding clang.

"Aye, aye, Captain Virgin." Tony jibbed as he circled back before he could get a shield up his ass.

Now that his daily jab at the Captain was done, he could focus on the real task at hand.

"Sir, I am detecting a pattern in the movements of the Doombots." Jarvis spoke up.

"Fantastic. Put them up." A diagram of the bots came on the screen, and Tony could see that there was a commanding officer that received and gave orders to the others. If he took that one out, all the others would shut down.

"Now for the main event, ladies and gentlemen, I will single-handedly thwart Doom's attempt to take over the city and still look cool." He mumbled and set his favorite song on. "Shoot to Thrill" came over the speakers, all available radio stations, including, but not limited to Shield's private frequency.

Tony snuck, ducked, weaved, and sometimes danced his way through a sea of Doombots, and over to where the command bot had been set up with a vanguard of twenty others. He wiggled his fingers, knowing that Doom could see through the cameras they called their eyes, and shook his hips before igniting a laser pack and doing a fancy spin. He took a theatrical bow as the command bot's eyes dimmed down. With the destruction of their leader, all the other Doombots powered down. Natasha landed the Quinjet, and she and Clint jumped out. Steve jogged over, barely breathing hard while Bruce shrunk down to normal size, clutching at his shredded pants.

"Thank you for your help, gentlemen and lady. It wasn't needed, but the sentiment is appreciated." Tony took an elaborate bow as he joined his teammates, flipping his faceplate up as he did so. "Uh, I think this one was all me. I mean, what can Katniss do with his eleven arrows, Cap with his defensive weapon, and Natashalie with her handguns? Thor and Hulk helped out a bit, though, keeping them off my back."

"Uh, _explosive _arrows, thank you very much. And all _you _did was take out, like, thirty. Cap even got more than you, and he's seventy odd years old." Clint scoffed as he scratched the back of his neck with a recycled arrow.

Natasha didn't even bother with a verbal reply. The bullet than whistled past his ear said it all for her. Steve straightened up, and Tony could feel the righteousness surging. In order to avoid the oncoming mom-lecture, Tony fired up his boosters and rose in the air.

"Uh, yeah. Good talk, team. I'll race you guys back. 'Kay? Bye." He grinned as he saw the look of frustration on Steve's face.

"But wait! We haven't even filed an incident report! And you never found Doom!" Steve shouted after him, but Tony just sped on faster.

It only took a couple of minutes to fly there. When he landed, Jarvis booted up the system for disassembling the suit. Left in his sweatpants and an old Black Sabbath tee-shirt, Tony grabbed a whiskey from the bar and headed down to his lab for some genius alone time. He was still in the hallway when he noticed it. Quickly, he grabbed a wrist repulsor and a pair of suit-calling bracelets from underneath a side table and slipped them on. Jarvis was silent. There had been no notifications like there normally was when he landed. The tower was ominously silent. He backtracked to the room he'd come in. Hearing a whisper of cloth against metal, he turned around and saw Doom standing behind him, resplendent in his cape as always.

"You want a drink?" He blurted out the first thing that came to mind as he stepped back a couple feet.

"No. I prefer to not have my wits muddled." Doom returned pleasantly, as if this was a chance meeting between old comrades.

"Suit yourself. See that pun? So. Why are you here, Sparky?"

"Why not?" Doom spread his hands. "I have infiltrated this city. It is mine to control, and the Avengers cannot stop me."

"Yeah, about that attack. We kinda destroyed your army." Tony mock-winced in fake sympathy.

Doom actually chuckled. _Chuckled_. "You think that my influence is limited only to my creations? I have many associates all around the world."

"You know, the last time I was in this room with an ubervillain, I was thrown out that very same window that you're standing behind. How about we switch it up and _you _are the one thrown out of it?" Tony grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I am a god, you dull creature, and I will not be bullied by-." Doom forgot to finish as he was body-slammed by a remote control suit.

Doom crashed through the fateful window as the suit returned to Tony. He strapped in and started after Doom, who had managed to snag onto a flying Doombot.

"Fancy meeting you here." Tony hovered in front of the awkwardly clinging supervillain and grinned toothily. "You know, you're just like Loki. Same lines, same half-assed plans, same _window _even. Finally! I've been waiting for that for over a year."

"Cease your overgrown yapping, you overgrown wood louse, or I will quiet you myself." Doom growled, glaring as much as someone with a full-face mask could glare.

"You need to get better nicknames, Tin Can. And quiet's not really my thing. You see -." Now it was Tony's turn to break off as a missile slammed into him.

System alerts blared in klaxons and the HUD went dark as he spiraled down to the cold, hard, unforgiving concrete. "Uh, Jarvis? How about a little support right now? Like, say, _the emergency boosters_!"

Nothing was working. Tony could feel damaged circuits sparking. He desperately hoped that one of the Avengers would catch him, but the last thing he saw was the ground coming to greet him. When he came to, he was lying in the middle of a small crater with the ruined remnants of his suit scattered around him. A couple of ribs were broken, as was his left arm. His ankle felt like it was made of shattered glass. He was bumped and bruised all over, and could see little flying Dooms circling around his head. He coughed and felt blood mixed with bile make a return journey with some whiskey. Someone chuckled from somewhere, and he turned his head, wincing at the noise it made, and saw Doom leaning over him.

"Not so tough now, eh, Stark?" The asshole drew a hypodermic needle from the inside of his cape and found a vein inside Tony's elbow.

He tried to struggle, but he was too dazed and injured to do much.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. This will only hurt a little. Well, I say a little. What I really mean is a lot." The slimy, viscous liquid entered his veins, burned slowly up his arm, and reached for his heart.

Tony spluttered at the feeling of his insides burning and his skin blistering. His organs were getting razed in the god-awful heat. His vision started to flicker, and he spiraled into darkness. The last thing he heard was Doom's evil chuckle. The last thing he thought was that Doom had to turn more original, and that this had been the worst day he'd _ever _had.

**Aaaand that's chapter 1! Hope you liked it! Did anyone get the Brave Little Tailor reference? I hope no one's too OOC. So if you liked it, then leave a review (that little rectangular button at the bottom of the screen) or follow/fav. I have a lot more to do on this story, so stick around! Any ideas that don't interfere with the basic plotline are welcome! Next chapter will be posted every second Friday. I can only write so fast!**


	2. Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species

Chapter 2: Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species

**It's me again! I talked with the others, and we'll be posting every second Friday with everything up by spring break (all this is subject to change). I have a poll on my profile, so when everything's up, if I could ask you all to vote, that would be excellent! You can always leave reviews too. I can't promise that I can make it a reality, but I will try! Oh, and let me know if there's any errors. I don't have a beta. **

_**Warning: Some Clintasha, but skipped over graphicness. **_

_Natasha P.O.V (Just after battle)_

Natasha hung back as Clint stepped forward to talk to Stark and leaned against the side of the jet. She was tired after the long fight and her leg hurt from when a lucky laser shot clipped it. When Stark insulted her and called her "Natashalie", she couldn't help but smirk a little and show Stark just what her handguns could do. She watched Stark take off impassively, and Cap slump over. Her eyes flicked from teammate to teammate. Thor was as energetic as usual, thinking of nothing but bloodlust and the thrill of victory. Banner was too preoccupied with salvaging his pants to take much notice of anything, much less how Stark hadn't said one word to him. Clint was satisfied and unruffled, and walked around counting up his arrows. She noiselessly stepped over pieces of debris to stand at his shoulder.

"You missed one."

He jumped and looked at her askance. "Where? I don't see any more."

"Up there." She flicked a finger and raised an eyebrow, but when he glanced up, completely missing the direction, she huffed a sigh.

Natasha jumped up high enough and pushed her foot off of the top of Clint's head, catching the bar of a lamplight. She swung around a couple of times to gain momentum, before letting go and carefully plucking the arrow from the shadow of a support beam. She landed in a sideways crouch next to Clint and held out the arrow. Clint raised an eyebrow and whistled.

"Damn, girl. That made me think that you did gymnastics instead of ballet." His eyes raked over her figure as she stood.

When she tensed imperceptibly, Clint's eyes softened and he looked at her with concern. She shook off old memories like a wet dog and forced a smile. She scoffed and punched his arm. He winced and shrugged it off, laughing. Bumping her shoulder with his, she offered a rare sincere smile. They walked back to the rest of the team. Thor had gone, presumably back to Asgard, Banner had rigged a system to hold up his pants, and Cap had regained some dignity.

"All right. Let's go up and regroup back at the Tower." Cap scratched his still-perfect hair, looking up at the jet and kicking it doubtfully.

"Hey! Be careful how you treat my baby. She's very sensitive. Literally. Her sensors could distinguish heat signatures under twenty feet of rock and part your hair a mile off with a missile." Clint looked offended and rubbed the side of the jet soothingly.

Natasha felt lightness contort her features into mild annoyance. "Technically, she's a he, and he's my baby." She brushed past Clint and jumped up on the ramp before taking her seat at the controls.

"Oh, yeah? What's _his _name?" He called after her mockingly.

She looked back at him seriously. "Barney."

Clint sobered up quickly and got into the copilot seat. Banner and Cap filed into the back. They had only been flying for a couple minutes, when Clint furrowed his forehead and squinted into the monitors.

"Is that Tony?" He asked, pointing out the red and gold blur racing towards the ground.

"Yep." Natasha pulled the controls around and pushed the ship for all he had; the only sign of strain was a slight indent between her eyebrows. "Get ready to rip Stark a new one, Cap. If he's drunk and crashing again, I swear I'll sneak into his lab and wreck all his toys."

When Stark's flight didn't straighten out, she was even more confused. When he hit the ground, her knuckles whitened on the controls.

"Damn it." Cap swore and punched the side of the container.

Banner was white-faced. "Get me down there. Now." The last word was slightly distorted, the Hulk coming through, and Natasha nodded, not wanting to see the Hulk in a flying metal bird.

"Doom's there too." Clint said impassively.

They were so close now. Natasha landed with a bump, not caring about normal procedures, and flipped the hatch. Banner was the first to bustle out, followed closely by herself. Stark was lying in a crater with half his suit missing and blood starting to pool. Doom was just slipping away, and was putting something inside a pocket. She caught a glimpse of it just before a shield slammed into the villain, sending him backwards before returning to the arm that threw it. Doom recovered, only to be met with a good old-fashioned right hook from Natasha, who had run at him regardless. The metal mask actually cracked. Doom stumbled backwards, cradling his jaw, and glared at her, before turning tail and running away. He didn't get very far because an arrow slammed into the small of his back and then exploded, sending the villain sky-high. Natasha turned back to Stark to see Banner furiously checking wounds and vitals.

"How is he, Doc?" Cap asked worriedly, clenching his hand in a nervous tic.

"Not good. Broken ribs and arm, bruises, probable concussion, internal damage, maybe bleeding, abrasions, lacerations. I'm worried about splinters of bone digging into surrounding muscle and tissue. But thank God the arc's fine." Banner sat back on his heels as he stared into the face of his best friend. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"Ne-ega-ative." A broken piece of the iron man mask said brokenly. "A-aveng-gers t-towe-er has t-t-the bes-s-st heal-l-lthcar-re sy-y-y-ystem i-i-in the c-c-c-city."

"We have a hospital?" Clint asked almost bemusedly.

"You would know if you ever got hurt on missions." Natasha informed him stonily.

"Of all the times to have Thor not here." Cap looked frustrated and distraught, emotions Natasha had no experience or patience with.

"I ha-ave t-taken-n the-e lib-berty-y to sen-n-n-nd a suit-t-t to y-y-your loca-a-ation-n. It w-w-will be th-h-here shor-r-rtly." Jarvis chimed in again.

Cap put a hand over his eyes to shade them and help him see better. Lo and behold, the faint sound of boosters could be audible. Not that Natasha could see the suit anyway. Her eyes hadn't wavered from the fallen form of her friend. It was strange to see the normally vibrant, cocky, arrogant, generous, pain-in-the-ass brought so low. She stared at him, feeling for the emotions she should be feeling: anger, worry, grief. But she felt strangely void and calm, almost scientific, even. She almost jumped when she felt the familiar weight of a hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be alright. He's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. He won't take no for an answer, even if he has to fight tooth and nail to get back." Clint tried to reassure her.

Natasha slowly shook her head. "He's already fought so much."

"Haven't we all?"

The suit came, piloted by Jarvis, and assembled around the lax form of its creator. Banner went with it and left Natasha, Clint, and Cap to get a ride. She piloted them into the Tower, barely conscious of her actions because her mind was with her friend. Then, the rest of the team gathered in the hospital room, a white, forbidding affair that was too stark for Stark, while Natasha leaned in the doorway, with Clint as a comforting presence at her shoulder. Stark looked pale and drawn, strangely shrunken with the strain of healing and the weight of concern. The arc reactor was shining pale blue through the white sheet. Dark crescents hanging under his eyes, and a minute trembling in his hands denoted a severe lack of sleep. His injuries were wrapped up and treated. A thin IV snaked out from under the sheet. Assorted machines formed a half-circle around the bed. Banner was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing an unbuttoned shirt, and rubbing his forehead.

"Where's Cap?" Clint asked.

"He went to the gym. Probably beating up a dozen punching bags by now."

"What's the situation?" Natasha cut in, in no mood for dancing around the subject.

"There's an odd puncture wound at his elbow, almost like he was stabbed, but there was no shards of the suit near it, and there was nothing that could have made it." Banner gestured with his hands sharply to underscore his frustration.

Natasha exhaled sharply in recognition. "Could a hypodermic needle make it?"

Banner stood still for a moment, then bustled around to the other side of the bed and carefully lifted Stark's arm. He whipped a foldable ruler from a pocket and measured it, muttering the numbers under his breath.

"It's about the right circumference, right depth, right spot, but I already tested his blood, and there's nothing in there."

"I saw a needle on Doom when he was running. Maybe it's an organic poison or one that dilutes in blood. If we can get Doom and that needle, then we can inverse the formula for an antidote." Natasha's mind leaped ahead, calculating the odds of catching Doom and the odds of being able to make an antidote anyway.

"It's worth looking into anyway. Maybe I can -." Banner was interrupted when Stark flipped onto his side and started vomiting up a black fluid.

He rushed to hold Stark's head, while Natasha and Clint worked to keep the legs and torso down.

"He's burning up and his vitals are all over the place." Banner shouted, doing anything and everything he could to keep his friend stable.

As Natasha watched, fascinated, black lines started to raise and spread out on Stark's elbow. They moved slowly, but fast enough so that she could make out progress. Whatever Banner did, it must have worked, because Stark settled back with a shuddering sigh. The lines also disappeared, as did the fever.

"I've never seen symptoms dissipate that quickly. I'd better -." Banner said feverishly as he started to scribble furiously in a notebook.

Natasha didn't listen to more, as she was already halfway down the hallway. She didn't want to see Stark, didn't want to put a name to the emotions that were rattling their box and spilling out of her tight grip.

"Nat?" She hadn't noticed Clint coming.

He had an uncharacteristically soft and sincere expression on his face. He leaned against the wall next to her. His warmth seeped into her coldness, so she leaned forward, just a little.

"Thanks."

"What do you need?" She needed not to feel, to put everything out of her mind.

"You."

He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed intently on her. She headed towards her room, desperate to lose herself and outrun her storm inside.

_Some time later_

"This is just like Budapest, all over again." She whispered.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently." Clint chuckled drily.

"They trained us to be cold, to never care, to shoot friends if needed, to never form attachments. They warned me what would happen. It was hard at first, but I took this to heart, made it my one code when I had none. I found that it was easier to mask my true self under layers and layers of false identities, so that nothing could get to me and I could get to everyone. It's not a good way to live, but it's sure as hell a good way not to die. But there's a difference between not dying and living. And I'm so tired. I don't want to just not die anymore. I want to live." She closed her eyes as memories of old demons flashed past.

"You can live here." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into it, a foreign warmth lighting her chest. "I think that's why you're so upset about Stark. He's created a place for us misfits where we won't be judged and where we can do what we want to do."

"What do we want to do?" She couldn't help asking.

"I dunno. Maybe I'll take up beekeeping and you can go back to ballet. You certainly have the flexibility for it." Clint grinned as she swatted the arm that was wrapped around her waist.

She settled back into his arms, and couldn't help a smile that stole over her lips at the comfort and peace she found within the protective circle of Clint's arms.

**And that's a wrap! Sorry if Nat's too OOC. She's really hard to write properly. I know this is really slow, it'll pick up in a couple chapters. Stay tuned 'til next time!**


	3. Stark Realities

Chapter 3: Stark Realities

**Warning! In this chapter, beware of some good-old-fashioned, boot-to-the-butt, motivational pep talks from the least likely person to do so. You have been warned. **

_Steve P.O.V_

When Steve had first moved into the tower, he'd spent so much time in the gym that Tony had locked him out of the room two weeks in and laughed. Afterwards, Tony set up an industrial strength hook and made new bags out of some new fabric with dyneema. Steve was astonished when the new bags didn't disintegrate under his barrage of blows, and made sure to sincerely thank Tony next time he saw him. Tony had just waved it off and said something self-deprecating. Tony did that a lot: give someone a gift and the shrug it off. Steve always noticed how no one noticed.

Now, don't get him wrong. Steve still mostly dislikes Tony. He's rude, arrogant, crass, smug, sarcastic, and never follows orders. But Steve could see the potential to be a better and happier man resting dormant in him.

Now, Tony's lying in bed, injured, and with no sign of waking up.

Steve punches the bag even harder and faster, blinking the sweat from his eyes. Normally, boxing sets him at ease, but today, all the punching bag does is remind him of the good man dying right now. The bag splits apart, the fifth one, spilling sand over the already gritty floor. He unhooks the bag before putting it next to its disemboweled fellows and grabbing a fresh one. He hooks that one on and readjusts the wrappings on his fists. After that, he begins pounding away at the new one.

_Uppercut, hook, jab. Cross, jab, block. Straight, twist, jab. _

It's not enough. He can't run from himself. He feels anger welling up, and grief trailing behind. Disgusted, he throws one last punch before walking to the bench and chugging a bottle of water and throwing a towel over his shoulder.

"I thought you might be here. Still working the ring, I see."

Steve whipped around, his hand reaching for the absent weight of his shield at his back, before he recognized the figure at the doorway. Once he recognized her, he was acutely aware of how little he was wearing; a white undershirt and cargo shorts. Back in his day, everyone was fully clothed, even at home.

"Natasha." He acknowledged. "What are you doing here?"

She tilted her head, red hair falling to the side of her face. "I thought that you might need a friend-slash-therapist."

"It's awfully hard to trust someone when you don't know who they are." He sat on the bench and wiped at his face.

She sat gingerly next to him and faintly wrinkled her nose. "How long you been down here?"

"I dunno. Maybe two hours." He hadn't exactly stopped to look at a clock.

"In that case, you smell like a fresh daisy." The corner of her mouth twitched up.

"What are you doing here, Natasha? Really." Steve looked into her unfathomable green eyes.

"Tony would want us to be a team. I know it doesn't sound like him, but you're important to him, we all are, and you want us to be a team."

Steve scoffed. "And how do _you _know all this. I doubt he would spill his guts to the master spy."

Her gaze crystallized. "I see, and I observe. What I notice, I can connect. I see him, every day, give people stuff because he genuinely likes them, without expecting anything in return, because he wants them to stay with him. He thinks of us as all one weird family, and he's never had a family, so he does the best he can. And his best is making us happy. Did you ever wonder why he spruced up the gym for you? It's because he knew that you like exercising whenever you think of your past. It's also why he stocks the kitchen up with quality foods for Thor. He made Clint and me a firing range that actually tests our abilities. He even hangs up our used paper targets. He gave Banner a lab and a place where he can not worry about the Hulk. Tony gave us all a home, and wanted nothing for it but friendship and a dysfunctional family. Now, you can sit up here and feel guilty, punch a bag or ten, or you can move on and get your ass downstairs where you can focus on finding a cure. He's not dead yet, and you're acting like he is. Give Tony something back for once."

Natasha left him, stunned, and swept out of the room. Steve blinked.

_Bruce P.O.V (in the hospital room)_

Bruce frowned down at the lab results. They said that nothing was wrong, but obviously something was wrong. His friend wouldn't be convulsing with seizures if something wasn't wrong. There had been two more fits since Romanoff and Barton left, and Banner had held down Tony with a sickly feeling in his heart. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, glancing at his patient as he did so. There was no change. The EEG test had said that Tony's brain activity mirrored an awake person's, which was obviously wrong, as Tony wasn't awake. Bruce heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair, looking at his friend.

He remembered when he had seen Tony rocket past them and crash. The Hulk had roared so loud and rattled the bars of Bruce's control. But thankfully, he had desperately convinced Hulk that Tony was more helped by a doctor than a fighter. Hulk had subsided, grumbling, and a relieved Bruce ran to Tony's side.

Even now, anger simmered just below his surface and lent strength to Hulk. He was furious that Tony had done such a stupid thing as face Doom on his own. He was hurt that Tony hadn't even looked at him after the fight. And he felt guilty that he wasn't there for the one time his friend needed him. He wanted to do something. He wanted to cure Tony. So he ran the tests again, fruitlessly. When those came back clean, he ran them again, and then again. And when those came back, he threw the whole sheaf of paper in the air furiously. Leaning against the desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took off his glasses.

"I was worried there for a minute."

Bruce jerked backwards and looked at the spy suddenly in the doorway. He always wondered why the two agents always stood by doorways. He supposed that they always wanted an easy way out if a situation came up in order to feel safe.

"Agent Romanoff. What brings you down here?" Bruce never liked Romanoff; she always lied.

"I had a little talk with Cap, so now I'm going to have a little talk with you."

He snorted. "I'd rather not."

"And I'd rather not stay in the same room as you with the Hulk so close to the surface, but here I am." She said honestly.

"Look, I know what you're going to say. 'I need to control myself' or 'I need to distance myself from the situation'. I can already tell you that I'm not distant from this!" He was suddenly shouting, and when he looked at her, he could see a hint of fear in her eyes and in her slightly defensive stance.

"That's not what I was going to say at all. Isn't it a good thing that I stayed here to hear that?" She tried to joke but it fell flat when coupled with her tense tone. "I was going to tell you to get angry."

"What?" Bruce wrinkled his forehead. Usually people tell him not to get angry. Hulk perked up a little when the heard 'angry'.

"Anger is a powerful motivator as long as you don't let it control you. If you can hold onto it and focus it on something, there is nothing you can't do. There are two types of anger: cold and hot. Hot is here and gone. It burns bright, but fast, and gets out of your system as soon as you feel it. Cold is like a distant star inside of you; always there and always burning. It can bring revenge, and it always keeps you focused on a goal. Thor's a great example of hot anger. I've always preferred the cold myself. If you can feel your anger, finely balance it between the cold and the hot, and it will help you with anything that will erase itself. So, get angry, just don't let Hulk use it all up." Romanoff smiled tightly.

Bruce had never thought of anger as a tool like that. He was always hot anger: ephemeral and destructive. If it would help him help Tony, he would try. He channeled the anger into one big breath, and focused it onto one part of his body. It drew inward and crystallized, like a dying star, but instead of exploding, it waited for the moment that it could go supernova.

Bruce inhaled again and nodded, just once, at Romanoff. She smiled a little and got up to leave, but he stopped her with a question.

"Is that how you always think? You save your anger and bottle it up until it can be used against your enemies?"

She smiled, strained, her eyes distant. "It was. Before I met Clint, it was."

"You love him." It was more a statement, or an affirmation of suspicions, rather than a question.

She paused again here. "As much as someone like me can love. It's different for us, isn't it."

_Clint P.O.V_

Clint felt at peace. Which was weird for him. He always was on guard and ready for any and every eventuality. His breathing was slow and steady, and he was almost asleep. Nat was in his arms, tucked together like puzzle pieces. His nose was buried in her hair, so each time he inhaled, he smelled her unique scent: gunpowder, roses, and cinnamon. They were almost cuddling, and she'd never been one for that, preferring to keep him at arms length, even after their trysts. He wondered what was up. Knowing she would never tell him sent bitterness aching in his heart. When she started to move, he decided to keep pretending to sleep. He heard the rustling of cloth and the creak of metal on metal door. He quickly slipped on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket, and popped the hatch on the air ducts. Stepping on a chair, he squirreled into the small space.

It was a tight fit for his shoulders and waist, but he'd make do. After all, he's made do with worse.

He pulled out the tracker he'd slipped into Nat's hood and makes his way through the ducts to her general direction. She stops outside the gym, so he stops just in the hallway. Her voice and that of Steve drifts up to him waiting in the air ducts.

Clint never liked Cap. Maybe it's the impossible do-gooder attitude or the way he parts his hair. Maybe it's the way that Nat looks at the Captain. They do make a good team, with her deception and his honesty. She probably finds it refreshing. Clint shakes off jealousy and listens harder to the conversation. He bangs his knee into the side of the really too small space, and freezes instinctively.

His mind races as he puts the pieces together. Their conversation earlier, Nat's conversation with Steve. Of course. She's getting the team back up on their feet with a healthy dose of intimidation and no-nonsense toughness with a dash of sympathy thrown in for the heck of it.

Clint grins as she chews Steve out. The grin drops when she quickly walks off and he has to army crawl silently after her. He ends up just outside of Tony's hospital room and listens in on Nat and Bruce's little talk next. It's the average spiel that therapists give agents who have anger management issues, but with a personal spin. He knows Natasha's kind of anger. It's the only thing that kept him going when he was younger, before he met Natasha.

But the end of the talk floors him. He knew that he loved Natasha, but to hear that _she _loved him was … unexpected in the extreme. They were both agents. They had to remain objective. They knew intel that they couldn't tell the other. They had secrets nothing could bring them to say.

They both loved the other.

His heart constricted strangely. Normally it only did that when he saw a gorgeous longbow and had to get it, or a sweet long rifle, or when he thought of Nat when he or she was on a mission. He wasn't sure what drove him to kick out the screen and drop down to the floor, but he did it. He was just leaning against the wall when Nat came out of the hospital room.

"So how'd it go?" He asked.

She paused a nanosecond before joining him in leaning against the wall opposite. "Not bad. I think I talked some sense into them. Too bad I had to do it without using agent brutality."

He grinned. "'Cause you always beat your teammates before going after bad guys."

"I know you were listening. How much did you hear?"

The grin slipped, and he avoided looking into her knowing emerald eyes. "All of it. What gave me away?"

"Nothing. Just the fact that I slipped a tracer on you too." He heard the smugness in her voice, and smiled ruefully, running a hand over his hair.

"Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Does it matter? A while."

"Okay."

**Just, a note. I don't take boxing, so if I seem a bit uninformed, I am. But I did the best I could with copious internet researching and background knowledge from other books. **

**Did anyone get major feels from this chapter? I know I was almost crying and laughing while I read it, and I'm the one who wrote it! I hope no one's too OOC. It was hard to get Clint right, and I'm still not happy with the ending, but I thought the scenes with Bruce and Steve were pretty good.**

**And just a shout out to my friend writtingnut135723. I don't know why she didn't post last week. So if you're reading this, Nutty, then you should know that I will chase you around with a carving knife or become your internet stalker if you don't post. :)**


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